If only and what could never be
by Devil-may-care101
Summary: He should have known better...He wasn’t immune. Death didn’t allow for special circumstances...Death took who he wanted, when he wanted, without discrimination..." Oneshot based on Angell's death.


_Hey everyone :) Okay, its been a while since I posted anything CSI NY related - please don't fret my regulars, my new chappie for Best Kept Secrets is well underway, and I also have a new chapter for my story Choices ready to go :) - but this idea came to me today and I had to write it._

_Unbeat-ed so all mistakes are my own._

_Disclaimer: Own nothing and never will_

_NOTE: This is NOT a spoiler for season six. This is just fiction based on fiction :)_

_Enjoy :D_

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If he thought back, he couldn't tell you how he ended up in the morgue. He couldn't tell you why his feet had inexplicably taken him to the one place he didn't want to be, why he couldn't remember the conscious decision to come here.

He'd been walking for hours, in the dying sunlight that cast tall, dark looming shadows across the sidewalks. He'd carried on walking even as the light faded into dusk, as the street lights flickered on and sent garish orange splodges around him. He'd been walking nowhere in particular; his plans for the evening had been cancelled.

Permanently.

So he was left alone, with the dark and guilty thoughts festering in his mind. If only he'd not been trying to track down the reckless informant that he didn't even like, if only someone else had been assigned to her shift. If only he'd gotten there sooner. If only the doctors could have done something. If only the trauma hadn't been so great. If only after if only, spinning round and round in his head like a small child on a merry-go round.

Then his thoughts ceased to come through in coherent words, instead relying on pictures and images, snapshots in time that he could never erase, even if he wanted to. Her long dark mahogany hair. The sparkle in her eyes as she teased him. The determined and fearless detective that could push around every criminal and punk that came through the doors of the precinct and then act as if nothing they said bothered her.

Then the sound of her voice on the phone, light and teasing as she joked about her plans for later. The massive crash in the background, one that even after all his years on the force struck fear deep into his heart as he practically kicked the man out of his car and gunned it through the streets, sirens blaring, lights flashing. The sound of gunshots on the other end of the line, his own voice screaming out for her, strangled in a choking fear he couldn't control. And no response on the other end, just more shots, more screaming.

The scene of destruction when he'd arrived was horrific. Certainly, he'd seen much worse, been involved in things himself that made this incident look like something created by a small town hick. But this was worse, infinitely worse, because she was in there.

He found her bleeding, unresponsive as he yelled her name. Her pulse was weak, erratic, and her breathing was heavily restricted. He did what every officer had been told never to do; he'd lost his cool, allowed his emotions – his fear and despair – to overwhelm him, crush him, destroy his better judgement. His panic made him desperate; he didn't wait for the paramedics, knowing deep down that if he did, they'd be too late.

Just as he'd been too late.

Oh, he'd tried. He tried. But despite driving almost twice the legal limit, time had been against him. Her time was coming to an end, and there was nothing he could do to slow it down, nothing he could do to give her just a little longer on the earth she'd tried so hard to make a better place.

She'd held firm in her belief that she could make a difference, even if it meant she had to take criminal after criminal down one by one.

He'd too had that vision. Once. But so many years on the force changed it, and instead, he had to focus on keeping up with the bad guys, and finding that inevitably, even if you took the criminals down one by one, there would always be more, ready and waiting, to take their place. Instead of saving the world, he'd been fighting to keep his head above water, not allowing the situation to become worse, but not helping it get any better.

As he drove, he kept talking to her, flitting between begging and pleading her to stay with him, to anger that he could do nothing, to determinedly telling her that she'd be alright. He ran beside the gurney as the doctors wheeled her away, frustrated when the nurse told him that he could go no further. He's spent hours outside the surgery, never moving more than a few meters away from the door, lest the nurse come back.

The minutes after that, he could barely face to remember as he stared mutely at the stainless steel in front of him. The sympathetic look the nurse had given him, the realisation sinking in and tears filling his eyes as he realised that she truly was never coming back. That she was gone. Then Danny, arriving in the ER, the look of hope and fear on his face as he struggled to stay calm in front of his best friend. His anger when he found out. Then seeing her in the hospital room, cold, still and pale in front of him, covered in a thin light blue sheet. Sid arriving, waiting to take her away.

They'd gotten the bastard that did it. He tried to tell himself that that was important, that that is what she would have wanted. The criminal she'd wounded, led them to in the only way she could, was now dead – he'd made sure of that - but it was at the cost of her own life.

It wasn't fair.

So he'd wandered around town, thoughts leading nowhere, images haunting.

And still he did not cry. Even knowing what he did, knowing that what had transpired was definitely true. The tears would not come. So he grieved quietly, silently, as he tortured himself with what was and what if's and what could have been.

And yet here he was, standing in the morgue, looking down on her. Whoever said that the dead look like they were sleeping was a liar. She didn't look asleep; she was far too still, too cold, her face too emotionless. Sid had thoughtfully pulled the sheet over her, so that only her head was visible, so that he wouldn't have to see the ugly red scars from the autopsy. He still couldn't bear the thought that she'd had to be put through that, whether she was still here or not. And obviously, she wasn't.

She didn't belong here anymore.

He tried to tell himself that, that she was in peace now, but he didn't truly believe it. Was there a God? He didn't know anymore. He would have liked to believe that she was sat up there with him, happy and smiling down on the people she loved, taking care of them in a way she couldn't have done in life. But he didn't know if he believed that anymore. It was a nice idea, but it was only an idea. It brought him no relief from the crushing, bitter and twisted sense of reality.

Most importantly, if there was a God, why had he taken her?

That was what stumped him the most. She'd been beautiful, friendly, good at her job, and she lit up so many people's lives. His included. So why did she need to go? Why was her time up when there were still people out there, murderers, rapists, paedophiles, bad people who made others lives a misery, still breathing and tainting the air around them?

It was against the rules, to be here down this. But Sid, being the kind and caring man he was, had looked the other way, allowing the grieving detective to say goodbye in peace. He stood unobtrusively at the back of the room, leaving the door ajar but keeping a respectful distance as he watched the young man suffer silently.

Sid knew that no words ever comforted the people left behind.

Flack moved slowly, as if the whole world had been placed on his shoulders for him to cope with single-handedly. He dragged over one of Sid's chairs, and sat down, taking her hand in his, thumb slowly rubbing across the cold skin of her lifeless hand.

Had he loved her? He didn't know. He'd known there was something different about the way they were together. It had been easy, effortless, comfortable. But he'd never sat down to label what he was feeling. He'd carried on as if he had all the time in the world, as if he would always have the chance to look at things closely. Now, he was lost. But whether it was love – for if it hadn't, then it was certainly growing into love – didn't matter. Because she was still gone, and she wouldn't be coming back.

Without even knowing what the feeling was, it was still strong, and the loss was still the same. The pain was just as great.

Excruciating, soul-consuming pain that ran through his body and destroyed any good feelings he'd had.

He should have known better. With his job, he should have known that you can never take things for granted, that sometimes things happen that you don't expect and that they could take everything away that meant the world to you. Even after the bomb, when he'd almost died, he'd been cocky, believing that he was immune from things like this.

But he was just as human as the next person.

He wasn't immune.

Death didn't allow for special circumstances. Death didn't give any one person a chance over another. Death took who he wanted, when he wanted, without discrimination or analysis of who was left behind, and there was nothing anyone could do to cheat him.

As he sat in stony silence, his mind wandered briefly to the what could have been's. He had in passing had flashes of life, a quieter life, where she was more than just his partner, his friend. His lover. He could see that one day she could have been the one to take his name. Could have been the one to give him children. They had been thoughts disregarded quickly, for it was far too early to be entertaining thoughts like that. But he could see what Danny and Lindsay shared – even with all their ups and downs – and he wanted that. He wanted the closeness, the safety, the comfort. And he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, that Jess could have been the one to do that.

But that could never happen now.

There were so many things he wanted to scream, to ask, to cry out and plead for answers. Why hadn't she fought harder, why had she been so brave and fearless, why did she have to leave? He could shout out these questions now, and he knew that Sid wouldn't begrudge him. But he knew that he would get no answers. She wasn't here anymore. The body that lay before him wasn't here. It looked like her, but it wasn't her.

He would never see her again.

His throat closed, and for the first time since the hospital, he allowed the tears to flow as he sobbed silently, tears dampening the sheet covering her.

Everything had changed now. She was gone, and he was left behind, and now he was the one who had to pick up the pieces and carry on.

When his tears finally slowed, he gazed down on her one last time. Everything he ever wanted or needed to say stuck in his throat, and he had to force his final words out. He gently laid down her hand, stood and smoothed back her hair from her face as he took in her features.

"Goodbye Jess." He whispered, the grief thick in his voice but the tears no longer falling. He leant down and kissed her forehead softly, before turning away and leaving the room, eyes blurry and bloodshot.

He would not be coming back here again.

Later, he found himself twirling a whiskey glass in his hands, barely aware of anything around him. He'd had a few drinks, but nothing would ease the dull ache in his chest, the small tear in his heart. He kept drinking anyway, even more so when the rest of the team showed up. He ignored their looks of pity and sympathy, and he ignored the pain in everyone else's eyes. He knew they too were grieving – after all they'd lost a friend and someone they cared about – but he selfishly wanted to keep that to himself for now. He could barely handle himself right now; how could he cope with everyone else's pain as well?

He didn't notice the car, and the gun, until it was too late. The shots began to ring out, instinct and years of police training throwing him to the ground as glass flew everywhere and bullets shattered everything in their path.

His last thought before he hit the floor was of Jess. She smiled and waved cockily at him, beckoning him to come to her.

Maybe he would see her again after all.

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_Well I hope you enjoyed that :) Remember, this is purely my interpretation; **this is in no way, shape or form a spoiler for season six**. Who else is excited about that by the way?! I am!_

_Please review :) xxx_


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